


The Lone Gunmen Dating Service

by jdrush



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Humor, Opposites Attract, a bit of schmoop just because, blind dates, or at least that's what they say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: The Gunmen are at it again, with yet another get-rich-quick scheme.  But how does Monica fit into their plans?
Relationships: Monica Reyes/Walter Skinner
Kudos: 2





	The Lone Gunmen Dating Service

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All characters are owned by CC, 1013, and FOX. I made no profit from this story.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm currently uploading some of my old stories to AO3. I wrote this one around 2003, 2004? (you can tell by the movie titles that I used.) But other than that, I think it holds up pretty well.

**Thursday, March 30, 2002**  
  
"Hey pretty lady, what's the skinny?"  
  
I looked up from my terminal and smiled at my three visitors. "Not much," I responded to Frohike's question. "Just trying to finish up a report. You guys need to get on-line again?" I offered, backing away from my computer.  
  
"Actually, if everything goes the way it should, we'll be flush again in no time," Frohike replied, almost puffing out his chest with pride.  
  
That piqued my curiosity. "Hmmmm . . . what's up?"  
  
"We've developed a new way to generate some income," Byers informed me as he leaned against a nearby file cabinet.  
  
"And put the paper back in business," Langly finished from his current position, sprawled across Doggett's vacant chair. My partner had gone home to Georgia for his parent's 50th anniversary. I couldn't imagine being married to someone for 50 years. Hell, I rarely got past the one-month anniversary mark anymore.  
  
"Congratulations," I cheered enthusiastically. "What is it?"  
  
Frohike came and sat on the edge of my desk. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Computer dating."  
  
I snickered. "You're kidding me. The Lone Gunmen Dating Agency?"  
  
"Not exactly," Byers chuckled nervously. "We just developed the software program."  
  
Langly bristled. "Ahem? WE?"  
  
Byers smiled at his friend. "Correction. Frohike came up with the idea. LANGLY came up with the program."  
  
"That's better," Langly said smugly.  
  
Frohike fairly rolled his eyes at the younger man before turning his attention back to me. "Anyway, we're meeting with some distributors next Friday to pitch our product."  
  
"A chain of outlets across the country," Byers injected.  
  
"Mega clams," Langly added.  
  
"Sounds . . . interesting. I'm really happy for you." And I was. I really liked the Gunmen. They were very helpful and very entertaining and very sweet in their own offbeat way. I was sorry that they had fallen on hard times – it'd be nice if they could catch a break for once.  
  
"Well, it's not a done deal yet," Byers cautioned. _That man is way too serious_ , I thought, absently. _He needs to loosen up. Maybe he could start with his necktie_.  
  
"Yeah, we still have to run a final test of the program," Langly stated.  
  
"That's where you come in," Frohike said with a wink.  
  
I looked from one Gunman to another and blinked. "Pardon me?"  
  
"We don't really know if the program works or not," Frohike elaborated.  
  
"You mean you haven't tried it out yet?" I asked, confused. _Their sales meeting is next week and they haven't tried it yet? Talk about cutting it close!_  
  
Byers shyly averted his pretty blue eyes as he explained, "Well, we have a lot of male associates, but we don't know many women we could use as test subjects."  
  
_Ah. Now it makes sense._ "So you want ME to be a guinea pig?"  
  
"Something like that," Byers answered, once more looking me in the eye.  
  
"Well, as flattered as I am you'd think of me, I'm really not sure about . . . ."  
  
I didn't get a chance to finish, as Langly interrupted. "This program is revolutionary. Instead of matching you by likes and dislikes, it works on the theory that opposites attract."  
  
"So even if your date doesn't seem like a good match at first, it's possible the computer knows something you don't," Frohike finished the sales pitch.  
  
Well, I still wasn't sure, but then I thought, why not? Since breaking up with Brad Follmer three years ago, my social life has been pretty non-existent. And I've been so busy since being assigned to the X-Files, I couldn't even remember the last date I went on. So, giving the guys a big, encouraging smile, I said, "Okay, you talked me into it. What do I have to do?"  
  
Frohike reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Handing it to me, he grinned, "You're all right, Monica."  
  
The folded sheet I opened and smoothed out on the desk turned out to be a questionnaire. As I picked up a pen to start in on it, I found myself saying, "Can I just ask a question – why didn't you go to Dana for this?"  
  
Byers turned the cutest shade of red. "We did."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Frohike rigged the results," Langly snorted in disgust.  
  
"Hey, just because I have a date with her tomorrow night doesn't mean I rigged the results," Frohike protested.  
  
Byers leaned over and whispered confidentially in my ear, "He rigged the results."  
  
They continued to bicker around me as I filled out the form. Despite what Langly had said, I found most of the questions to be fairly standard: name, age, place of birth, education, etc. Standard, that is, until I got to question number 12. I read it through twice, not sure I understood it the first time. But I hadn't been seeing things – the question read, "Besides the bedroom, favorite place to have sex." I lifted my gaze at the trio, cutting into their quarreling. "Um, guys? Number 12?"  
  
If I thought Byers turned red before, it was nothing compared to now. Ducking his head, he coughed, "Talk to Langly."  
  
"Hey, it's a valid question," Langly argued.  
  
I smirked. "Right. Sure it is." After a moment or two, I wrote down 'shower', and continued on with the survey. There were some introspective questions, such as favorite authors, and a few more basic ones, such as favorite color. And there were a few that I was positive Langly threw in just for fantasy material. (Seriously, did it really matter in the grand scheme of things if I wore panties or thongs?)  
  
When I was finished, I handed it to Frohike, who skimmed it quickly, nodding at some answer or another. "So, when will I know?" I inquired.  
  
"We'll call you as soon as we run this bad boy through the system," he assured me, refolding the form and placing it back in his jacket pocket before hopping off my desk.  
  
"Thanks for all your help, Monica," Byers smiled. "We really appreciate it."  
  
"Ta," Langly called out over his shoulder as they trundled out of the office, closing the door behind them.  
  
I looked down at the report that I had been working on before the impromptu visit and shook my head in amusement. Those three were stranger than any X-File out there.  
  
**Later That Day:**  
  
_Ring._  
  
"Agent Reyes."  
  
"Um, Monica? This is John Byers."  
  
"Hey, how's it going? Got my dream guy all lined up?"  
  
"Ah, yeah. Yeah. I've got the results right here in front of me."  
  
"And . . .?"  
  
"We ran it through twice and got the same . . . unusual . . . response."  
  
"Don't tell me – I'm going out with Frohike."  
  
"No, no. We made sure he didn't tamper with the results this time."  
  
"So . . . are you going to tell me who it is?"  
  
"I . . . I think it would be better if I didn't."  
  
"That doesn't sound good."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't want to taint your opinion."  
  
"You're starting to scare me now, Byers."  
  
"It's nothing bad, I can assure you – just . . . unusual. If you want to back out, I'll understand."  
  
"No, I made you guys a promise. And besides, now you've got me curious. So, what do you want me to do?"  
  
"Well, you just go out on your date Saturday night and then call us Sunday to let us know how it went – see if the computer matched you up well."  
  
"I think I can handle that. Where am I going?"  
  
"This gentleman has arranged for dinner at Sorella's and a night at the theater."  
  
"Sounds promising. How will I know him?"  
  
"You'll be wearing a white carnation, and he'll be reading _The Sporting News_."  
  
"You better not be jerking me around, Byers."  
  
"No, I'm quite serious. Those were the provisions he insisted on. The reservations will be under the name, 'Fitzgerald'."  
  
"Why 'Fitzgerald'?"  
  
"It's my . . . um . . . my middle name."  
  
"Ohhhhh. Okay. You've got yourself a deal."  
  
"Great. I'll give him a call and let him know it's on. And thanks again, Monica."  
  
"No problem. I'll check back in with you on Sunday."  
  
"Okay. Have a great time."  
  
++++++++  
  
 **Saturday Night:**  
  
The phone call haunted me the rest of Thursday and all day Friday. Knowing the guys, I could only imagine what their friends could be like, and that was rather . . . unsettling. But then I thought about the reservations. Why would they be using Byers' middle name as the codeword? Was it possible HE was my blind date? Yeah, possible. And not entirely a distressing idea. Byers was kind of cute, and he seemed like a nice guy. If he was going to be my date, well, I could think of worse ways to spend an evening.  
  
And if it wasn't Byers, hey, it was only dinner and a night at the theater. How bad could that be, right? I could make it through one lousy blind date – nothing I haven't done before. And it's not like my social calendar had been on fire lately. And at the very least, dinner at Sorella's guaranteed I'd get a good Italian meal out of the deal.  
  
Consequently, I found myself spending most of Saturday trying to pick out the right outfit – something nice, but not too nice. Sexy, but not too sexy. Dressy, but not . . . well, you get the idea. I finally settled for a simple black-velvet sheath dress with short scalloped-sleeves, and a pair of 2-inch black pumps. I debated whether to put my hair up in a French twist or something, but in the end I just left it down. Throwing on my favorite onyx-bead necklace and a conservative pair of gold hoop earrings, I was ready to go.  
  
I stopped in the kitchen on the way out; opening the fridge, I fished out the white carnation I had picked up on my way home from work the night before. Once I had pinned it on, I grabbed my purse and coat off the rack, and I was ready to roll.  
  
I pulled up to Sorella's at exactly 6:28 – a blind date is not the time to be 'fashionably late'. I had considered taking a cab, but if things got bad, I wanted to be able to make a quick getaway. And, if we hit it off, I could always get a ride back to the restaurant in the morning to pick up my car. Maybe I'd call the Gunmen – they might owe me big time by the time the night was over.  
  
After checking in my coat, I gave the codename 'Fitzgerald' to the hostess; she led me over to a nice, quiet table in the back of the restaurant. Sure enough, there was someone sitting there, but an open copy of _The Sporting News_ prevented me from seeing who it was. So far, so good. I took a moment to steel my nerves and plaster a smile on my face, then trying for some lighthearted fun, greeted him with, "So, come here often, Sailor?" The newspaper lowered and I got the shock of my life . . . .  
  
It wasn't John Byers, but my boss, A.D. Skinner, staring right back at me.  
  
If ever there was a time I just wanted the earth to open up and swallow me, it was now. Feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks, I stammered, "Oh, ahhh . . . Sir. I . . . um . . . I'm sorry. I thought . . . I mean . . . ."  
  
"Is that a white carnation?" he asked, interrupting my babbling.  
  
I looked down at the flower pinned to my dress and nodded. "Yes. Yes it is."  
  
One eyebrow arched over his wirerimmed glasses, even as a mini-smirk touched his lips. "Lone Gunmen Dating Service?"  
  
_Oh, God, this isn't happening. This is NOT happening!_ "No freaking way," I whispered, incredulously.  
  
"My thoughts exactly," he replied, dryly.  
  
Now I was at a total loss for words. "Are you saying that you . . . they . . . how . . .?" The rest of the sentence simply trailed off.  
  
"I owed them a favor for some information they dug up for me awhile back," he explained. "And you?"  
  
"Just helping some friends out of a fix," I told him, still rooted to the spot where I was standing. Giving a nervous chuckle, I added, "I must admit, Sir, I didn't expect you to be here."  
  
"That's pretty obvious," he said, folding his newspaper and placing it off to the side. Fixing me with those deep, dark eyes of his, he sighed, "Look, Agent Reyes. I'm not going to say this is an unpleasant surprise, but it's obvious the Three Stooges messed up big time. Maybe it was a computer glitch or a blown fuse or something." He took a deep breath and released it slowly before continuing, "What I'm saying is, if you don't want to go through with this evening, I'll understand."  
  
Was that a whiff of wistfulness I heard in his voice? A note of sadness? Resignation that I'd want out of this agreement? Perhaps he had been looking forward to this night as much as I secretly had been – a chance to maybe meet someone special? Could he be as lonely as I felt sometimes?  
  
I took him in as he sat there, not in his usual pristine Brooks Brothers suit, but in a casual oatmeal cashmere sweater and brown tweed blazer – he looked good. Damn good. I'd be lying if I said I never noticed how attractive my boss was – hell, half the women in the Bureau had the hots for him. And there were certainly worse ways to spend an evening than having a nice dinner with such a handsome man.  
  
Decision made, I gave him a smile and stated, "No, I don't mind. I mean, what the hell? We're dressed, we're here. Might as well go through with it."  
  
"That's a major boost to my ego," he deadpanned.  
  
Again, I felt my cheeks burning. "I . . . that really didn't come out right, Sir."  
  
"Walter," he corrected me gently. "Whatever happens here tonight has nothing to do with the office. Okay?"  
  
"Okay . . . Walter," I grinned wider.  
  
Just then, the waiter came over and asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"  
  
I looked at him, then at Walter – sitting there expectantly – and answered, "Yes, a glass of red wine," as I took my seat across from my date.  
  
The smile he gave me was simply blinding.  
  
++++++++  
  
It took a few minutes (and a second glass of wine) before I could feel the tension easing between us, and I started to relax.  
  
The guys were right, of course – Walter and I had nothing in common. He ordered prime rib . . . I'm a vegetarian. He's a life-long non-smoker, while I had to use every ounce of willpower not to dig out the open pack of Morley's I knew was sitting in the bottom of my purse. As for politics, he's a Republican – I'm a liberal. (Big surprise there, huh?) Religion? He's Protestant. I'm undecided.  
  
Sports? He's as serious about boxing as I am about yoga. Football? He's a Cowboys fan; I root for the Steelers. Baseball? He's against the Designated Hitter. I'm all for it.  
  
On top of that, he's a Leo and I'm a Scorpio. Fire versus Water. How incompatible can you get?  
  
We couldn't have been more opposite if we had tried. But you know what? It certainly gave us plenty to talk about. And talk we did. Talked and listened and argued and debated. I couldn't remember the last time I had enjoyed such stimulating conversation.  
  
And as the meal progressed, I discovered that outside the office, Walter Skinner is a completely different man. I'd always known he was intelligent, but even I was amazed at his wealth of knowledge, and the vast array of topics he could converse about. I also found him to be witty, debonair, friendly, and utterly charming.  
  
I'm not embarrassed to say that I flirted shamelessly with him all through the meal – and he did likewise. I noticed he smiled a lot, smiles that were positively dazzling. And his eyes! So gentle and warm, twinkling with mischief in the candlelight.  
  
By the time dessert arrived, I was hopelessly under the spell of my suave, sexy boss . . . and the evening was just beginning.  
  
**Later That Night:**  
  
"You sure you don't want to go back to the restaurant and get your car?" Walter asked me as I dug out my keys and unlocked my front door.  
  
"No, that's okay," I answered, flipping on the overhead light and stepping inside my apartment. "It'll be safe until the morning."  
  
"Have you decided what you're going to tell the guys tomorrow?" he inquired, following me inside."  
  
"Well, it wasn't a total disaster," I assured him with a chuckle. "Of course, when Byers told me I was going to the theater, I never thought it would be _Showtime_."  
  
That had been the final surprise of the evening – arriving at the movie complex in Walter's Crown Vic. Once I got over my minor disappointment that we weren't going to a play, we were then stuck with the decision of which movie to go see, and our adversarial views were front and center. I wanted to see _The Rookie_. Walter wanted to see _When We Were Soldiers_. We finally settled on _Showtime_ with Robert De Niro and Eddie Murphy.  
  
But any positive momentum we had gained from that compromise quickly petered out as we approached the snack counter. Walter bought Goobers; I purchased Twistlers. He had even laughed at the time, "Monica, we're batting a perfect thousand."  
  
And he was right – we hadn't agreed on one thing the whole night.  
  
"Gotta love that DeNiro, huh?" my date enthused.  
  
"Yeah, you can never go wrong with DeNiro," I replied. "Of course, it wasn't quite up to par with _Midnight Run_ , but it was still a fun ride."  
  
Walter shook his head. "Uh-uh. His portrayal of Capone in _The Untouchables_. Now THAT was a fun ride."  
  
"I still like him better in comedies, like _Analyze This_ ," I commented.  
  
" _Raging Bull_ ," he countered.  
  
" _Meet the Parents_ ," I fired back.  
  
" _Taxi Driver_ ," he retaliated.  
  
" _Wag the Dog_ ," I reminded him.  
  
" _Goodfellas_ ," he insisted.  
  
" _We're No Angels_ ," I argued.  
  
He heaved a deep sigh. "Dammit, we can't agree on anything, can we?"  
  
I paused to think for a moment before answering, "Well, I'd like to think that we both had a good time tonight . . . at least I know *I* did."  
  
His whole face softened, and he gave me a smile that made my knees weak. "Me, too," he confessed. "A really good time."  
  
"You mean we finally agreed on something?" I teased.  
  
"Seems that way," he mouth quirking in a half-smirk. "I guess the Gunmen have a winner after all."  
  
"I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that." There was an awkward pause as we both stared at one another, seemingly waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, I took the bull by the horns and asked, "Walter . . . were you serious when you said tonight has nothing to do with the office?"  
  
He swallowed hard. "Yes. Why?"  
  
"Just . . . this." And with more courage than I thought I had, I leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on his lips.  
  
Startled, he asked, "What was that for?"  
  
"For a great night. Thanks, Walter."  
  
We just stared at each other for a moment or two. I thought I saw something flash in his eyes, something that was gone before I could even put a name to it. And as I stood there, trying to figure it out, he reached out and tenderly cupped my face in his large hands. Then, without warning, he was kissing me.  
  
Hot, wet, delicious . . . oh God, it's been so long since I was kissed like that. Hell, I don't think I've EVER been kissed like that. Soft lips crushed mine with a single-mindedness I'd never known before, and in a matter of seconds, my muscles had turned to jelly and my bones to water. I found myself grasping onto his broad shoulders just to keep myself upright, afraid I could dissolve into a puddle right at his feet.  
  
The kiss was just like the man himself: strong, passionate, and intense. Wanting more, needing more, I parted my lips slightly, offering myself to him – an invitation he took full advantage of. His tongue slipped past my lips, mapping the inside of my mouth, then entangled itself with my own. I gripped his shoulders harder, knowing I could pass out from the pleasure of the moment, and a moan of desire vibrated in my throat as I melted against his massive body.  
  
Then, just as suddenly as he attacked, he withdrew, and I almost wept at the loss of those magical lips. "You're welcome, Monica," he murmured huskily, patting my cheek affectionately before turning to go.  
  
It took me a couple of seconds to get my brain functioning again. He was almost out the door when I was finally able to gasp out, "Wait."  
  
He turned back to look at me, those soft brown eyes filled with curiosity. "Yes?"  
  
"I've got to know . . . question 12?"  
  
A look of puzzlement crossed his face momentarily, then his eyes lit up as he understood what I was asking. With a slight blush, he whispered, "The shower."  
  
I think I squealed in delight, and fell into his arms, our mouths meeting one more in a bruising kiss.  
  
Somehow we managed to stumble towards the bathroom, our mouths still locked together, shedding our clothes along the way. I barely had time to admire Walter's (let's not mince words) fantastic body as he turned on the water before he threw his glasses onto the vanity table, and then I was being pushed into the shower stall.  
  
Even as he grabbed the bar of organic soap and started lathering me up, his hungry mouth never left mine. Rough fingertips roamed over my breasts, taking a moment to scrape over my stiff nipples before trailing down my waist, hips, and over my backside.  
  
Blindly, I snatched the soap from him, and returned the favor. I practically whimpered at the feel of that rock-hard chest beneath my hands, and I earned a gruff growl as I pinched and worried his own nipples into hard little pebbles. From there, I let my fingers run sensuously through the soft graying fur that covered his torso, then downwards through the generous bush shrouding his aroused manhood.  
  
While I was busy soaping him up, he slipped his right hand between my legs; as he began to bite and suckle at my neck, one blunt finger parted my heated flesh, instinctively seeking out my erect, sensitive clit. A few strokes, and my knees almost gave out on me.  
  
His lips pulled away from me then, and he gazed up at me. With fire burning in his eyes, fire so hot it burned my soul, he whispered, huskily, "I'm clean."  
  
It took me a moment to realize he wasn't referring to the shower, but something more personal, more important. It touched me that as excited as we both were, he would still be so concerned about my health and well-being. Lost in the infinite depths of those beautiful eyes, I gasped breathlessly, "Ditto."  
  
Must've been the magic word. His lips took possession of mine once more as his finger slipped easily into me. I moaned, a sound Walter greedily swallowed while he continued to stroke me. I was so dazed I barely noticed him inching closer, pushing me backwards against the tiled wall. Suddenly, his finger withdrew, but I never had a chance to protest. Two large strong hands cupped my ass and lifted me until I hung suspended between the wall and the muscular brute in front of me. When I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles right above his shapely butt, I could feel his erection poking against me.  
  
_Oh God, yes, please fuck me!_  
  
And before the thought could be communicated, Walter thrust forward, burying himself completely within me with one long, fluid plunge.  
  
I threw my head back and cried out in rapture as I was impaled on that glorious cock, filled as never before. Ravenous, demanding lips descended over mine, effectively muffling any further enthusiastic outbursts, as Walter's powerful hips began to move – in-&-out, up-&-down, back-&-forth – unlike anything I had ever experienced. This was one man who knew his way around a woman! The pace was wild and frantic, and I gripped onto his broad, muscular shoulders, holding on for dear life as he rode me hard and fast. Pulling his mouth away from mine, he began licking and sucking my right breast, his hands kneading my ass, pulling me closer to him with each deep thrust. A light scrape of teeth over my right nipple sent me over the edge, and with a ragged sob, I came.  
  
Walter slowed his actions slightly, letting me return to earth, but even as the aftershocks rippled through my body, his began his onslaught anew. Turning his attention to my other breast, he soon had me at the pinnacle of erotic Nirvana once again, and this time I could sense he was ready to join me. Pistoning his hips into me fast and deep, his shallow pants and grunts echoing in the tiny room, it only took a few strokes until I reached my second screaming orgasm; with a loud animalistic howl of his own, Walter soon joined me.  
  
Okay, make that TWO things we had in common.  
  
He gently placed me back on my feet and we stood under the spray for a couple of minutes, lightly kissing and caressing, just enjoying the afterglow. When the water started to cool down, we stumbled out of the stall. A quick once-over with some towels to dry off, then we made our way to the bedroom. We tumbled into my comfy queen-sized bed . . . .  
  
And did it all over again.

++++++++  
  
**LGM HEADQUARTERS:**  
 **One Week Later:**  
  
"So, who was at the door?"  
  
"Dinner."  
  
John Byers looked up from his terminal to see Langly standing next to the workstation, holding two large pizzas and a six-pack of Bud. "I don't remember hearing you call the pizza man?"  
  
"I didn't," Langly replied, walking to the kitchen, Byers at his heels.  
  
"Then where'd you get it?"  
  
"The Skinman." Placing the pizzas on the kitchen table, he opened the top box. "Oh, man, a Supreme! Walt freaking rules."  
  
Byers reached into the cabinets over the sink and pulled down a couple of plates. Returning the table, he asked, "Are you saying Walter Skinner sent us pizzas and beer?"  
  
"No, I'm saying he delivered them personally," Langly answered, grabbing one of the plates from his friend and plopping down into a chair. "He was on his way to pick up Reyes for another date and wanted to say 'thanks'."  
  
Byers' eyebrow quirked at that. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah. I believe his exact words were, 'Your program is a resounding success'." Langly snagged a slice of pizza and took a huge bite. With his mouth full he mumbled, "Just one more happy customer of the Lone Gunmen Dating Service."  
  
Taking a seat opposite his friend, Byers placed a slice of pizza on his own plate. After picking off all the anchovies, he softly inquired, "You DID tell him, didn't you?"  
  
"Why the hell would I do that?" Langly responded, looked scandalized.  
  
"Because it's the right thing to do?"  
  
Langly swallowed his mouthful and gave a sharp laugh. "Dude, Walter is built like a fucking Sherman tank. YOU tell him."  
  
Now Byers looked scandalized. "Uh-uh – no way. Besides, as I recall, you and Frohike were the masterminds behind this escapade." The conversation died out as they both ate their pizza in silence. Finally, as Langly was reaching for another slice, Byers sighed, "Ringo, Skinner is going to be mad when he finds out – really mad. And I don't even want to think about Agent Reyes. Doesn't it bother you at all?"  
  
"Does it matter? If they like each other, why stir up trouble? And besides, we got a couple of free pizzas out of it." Out of curiosity, Langly lifted the lid on the other pizza box and exclaimed, "Oh, wow! Extra cheese and pepperoni. I LOVE this guy!" He then added a slice of that pizza to his plate.  
  
"Well, just don't eat it all," Byers cautioned. "Save some for Frohike. He might be hungry when he gets in."  
  
"Where is the Frog Prince, anyway?" Langly asked, tomato sauce smeared over his chin.  
  
"Out with Scully," Byers stated, handing his friend a napkin.  
  
Langly almost choked on his pizza. "Again?! That's the third time this week!"  
  
"Fourth," Byers corrected, solemnly.  
  
Langly gave a derisive bark of laughter. "Oh, man. I wouldn't want to be in HIS shoes when she finds out that the whole computer dating bit was just an April Fool's joke."  
  
"Personally, I don't intend to be on the same CONTINENT when she finds out," Byers amended. "I just hope Frohike knows what he's doing."  
  
"He's a big boy. He can handle himself."  
  
"From your lips to God's ears, Ringo." They continued to eat their meal in silence for few minutes before Byers mused aloud, "I wonder what they do when they get together?"  
  
"Thanks a lot, John. Now I've lost my appetite!" Langly grimaced, pushing his plate away.  
  
**AT THE SAME TIME, SOMEWHERE ACROSS TOWN:**  
  
Frohike cringed internally as the kissing on the screen heated up. Christ, what an evening: unbuttered, unsalted popcorn, Diet Coke, and _The Bridges of Madison County_. The only uncool movie Clint Eastwood ever made. Shit, even _Pink Cadillac_ was better! From beside him, he heard a sniffle, and was thankful he had worn a long-sleeved shirt . . . better for soaking up the tears.  
  
The only thing keeping the evening from being a total washout was the lovely lady in his arms. He knew he'd have to tell Dana eventually the whole Dating Service thing had been a joke, but not tonight. He pulled her closer and planted a tiny kiss in her shiny copper hair.  
  
Dana Scully purred at the attention, and curled herself closer to her date. She still marveled at the notion that Melvin Frohike enjoyed cuddling and watching girlie movies. The first date, it had been _Steel Magnolias_. Their second date, _How To Make An American Quilt_. And now _The Bridges of Madison County_ – a movie Mel had picked out at the store. "Just for you," he had said.  
  
Goes to show you never really know someone, she thought in amusement.  
  
When the Gunmen's computer dating program had first set her up with Frohike, she was sure that the whole thing was a scam, and that he had 'fudged the results' just so he could go out with her. But on that first date, she had been pleasantly surprised to find out just how well she and Mel meshed, and how much they actually had in common.  
  
As she reached for the tissue Frohike held out to her, she was already planning their next date and what movie they could rent – movies MULDER would never watch with her. Maybe _Titanic_ , or perhaps _The Joy Luck Club_. Too bad _Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood_ hadn't been released yet. Oh, well . . . that would give them something to look forward to in the future.  
  
Frohike took that moment to give her another chaste kiss on the forehead, and she smiled to herself, happy she had decided to help the Gunmen out with their latest business enterprise. She just knew their Dating Service was going to be a big hit.  
  
**THE END**


End file.
